A heaviness sits on us, silencing us all. Once they start boring, which they informed us will happen shortly, our contact with the outside world will cease. All attention will be put on the bore and the reservoir of water sitting on our heads, the same water that’s slowly filling the room.
“I’m done,” Cord says after a while. He folds the paper into quarters. He puts it in the baggie and when Jiggs and I don’t make an effort to drop ours into it, he crushes the opening with his hand and sighs.
“Just . . . give me a minute,” I eke out, watching the paper tremble in my hands.
If shit goes wrong, these will be my last words to my wife. To the love of my life. To the woman I would do anything for and love beyond measure. I wish I had more time to write this, more time to be able to find the words to tell her all the things I want her to know, to give her some sort of guidebook on how to do the things she doesn’t know how.
I look away into the darkness and blow out a breath, even the darkness a blur through my tears.
I love her. So damn much. And if I don’t make it out of here, I’m okay with that on my part. I mean, I hate I won’t get to experience life with her, but what will I know once I take my last breath? Nothing.
I hate it for her. For the pain she’ll go through, for having to recalibrate her life. I feel like I’ve let her down, and I just wish I could talk to her, face to face, one final time, and beg her to forgive me and tell her how much she means to me and hold her in my arms and . . .
The tears come fast and hard.
Sucking in a quick breath, I look at the words on the note in my hand. They’re incomplete. A ramble of topics and words and emotions and things to make her laugh, but it’s the best I can do.
My words mirror the man I am: a failed attempt at making things right.
“We’re ready to start!” a voice booms from above.
I look at Jiggs as his head lifts to mine. His eyes are bloodshot, his hair caked with soot. “Here we go,” I say, reaching for his letter. He kisses it before putting it in my hand. I drop them into Cord’s bag.
He stands and places them in my lunch box. Tying a rope around the handle, he tugs on it and we watch it rise to the surface as water speeds down to the floor.
ELIN
A plate of nibbled fruit and sandwiches sit on the table in between us. Paper cups of water sit, virtually untouched, next to it.
Lindsay’s face is swollen, her lips cracked and red. Her skin is blotchy, her hair a tangled mess. It’s such a contrast to her usual made-up appearance that it breaks my heart.
“How are you?” I whisper, my throat parched.
“About the same as you.” Her voice is husky, matching mine. “You know you look like a mess, right?”
A hint of a smile plays on her lips and, instantly, a bit of pressure releases from my shoulders.
“You haven’t looked in the mirror recently, huh?” I tease.
“Aren’t we a sight?” She leans back in her chair. “How long do you think it will take?”
“I have no idea.”
We sit in silence again, each of us coming to terms with the next piece of the puzzle. How the next few hours will determine the rest of our lives.
“They’re going to be fine,” Lindsay says out of nowhere. “I know that sounds crazy and optimistic, but I believe it.”
I half-smile, unable to give her more.
“I fell asleep earlier—today? Yesterday?—and I had a dream. I was giving birth to this baby, a girl, if you’re wondering, and Jiggs was with me, holding my hand. I felt so calm, so happy. It has to be a glimpse of the future because I could never feel like that if he wasn’t here. I just couldn’t.” She looks at me earnestly. “They’re going to be okay, Elin.”
“They have to be,” I say, wishing I had felt as sure about it as Lindsay. “I can’t . . .” I gulp, “I can’t imagine going through life without either one of them.”
“I know and that’s why they’ll come back to us. They have a guardian angel watching over them. I feel it.”
I pick at a sandwich and avoid her stare. Even though I’ve tried to convince myself this will end well, I don’t feel that way. Maybe because I’ve heard Ty talking about mining disasters. Maybe because I feel like he’s been spared once already. Maybe because I understand the dangers more than she does. Whatever the reason, I just can’t find that peace about it.
“I was thinking,” she says, her voice lifting me out of my daze. “We should have a double baby shower.”
“I can’t think about that right now.”
“Sure you can,” she says, resting her elbows on the table. “You have to feed the result in your mind that you want. If we are imagining this party together, our boys there, that gives the universe the energy we want it to have.”
Laughing, I roll my eyes. “I don’t know how much of that universe energy stuff I believe.”
“Well, I do,” she says simply. “And I’m going to be over here choosing the theme and the finger foods, so if you want a say in it, I’d speak up.”
“You’re nuts,” I say, feeling an ease seep in my bones.